


otep myrrhy

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, both are secretly in love with each other but don't know how to work around it, inaccurate depictions of noble medieval lifestyles, not beta'd because we die like men, they're married but shy around each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “What does it mean? The song, that is.”“Do you wish to know?”That seemed to have caught his attention. He nods at her with much enthusiasm. “I do.”She leans towards him, and the blush in Lucien’s cheeks rises in a deep shade of red. She stops close enough to have their noses touching, and whispers just about when their lips almost meet: “Then learn Czech.”
Relationships: Czech Republic/Luxembourg (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	otep myrrhy

**Author's Note:**

> Human names used.
> 
> Ludmila - Bohemia/Czech Republic.  
> Lucien - Luxembourg.

Politics was heavy, as it was burdening. Ludmila left the congregation hall not long after it was over, suddenly feeling a lot more exhausted than she was in the beginning of her day. Lucien was present there as well, but she was not able to find the time to talk to him. She did, however, greet him earlier—just before the gathering had took place—with a soft _“guten Morgen,”_ and she saw him brightening up at the sight of her before he returned the gesture.  
  
Two years. It had been two years since their union. Their relations were amicable and cordial on both ends, which had been enough to satisfy them at first. Ludmila and Lucien held short yet polite conversations with one another, with them often mentioning the agreeable weather or the intricate designs on their silk clothing—but still, even with their budding friendship, they remained their distances. Ludmila was quiet and reserved, and busied herself with keeping the castle tidy and going away to the woods to practise her bow and arrow. Lucien gave his assistance to her, but was frequently occupied training with the guards.  
  
(Ludmila had watched him once—she took a glimpse of him up from the windows as she was taking a stroll in the castle, quietly admiring Lucien’s talent with the sword, but she quickly walked away before he had even noticed her eyes on him.)  
  
Ludmila finds herself wandering in the garden; the sun was particularly mild today, with its warm rays shedding its light on the bountiful of flowers and plants that permeated the area. She spots a tree with just the perfect shade to take solace in, and sits herself on the ground as she leans against the tree’s bark. Ludmila closes her eyes and lets out a comfortable sigh from her lips, overtaken by nature’s peace and serenity. She took note of her surroundings: the smell of roses, the softness of the soil beneath her, the gentle ringing of the birds.  
  
The pleasant atmosphere around her brings her in a state of contentedness. Ludmila faintly remembers a tune that she had heard in her wedding, and once again with the nobles in her castle as she was casually passing by them. The song held a tender gentleness to it, one that strongly reminded her of the delightful circumstances now. She rummages through her memories to recall the lyrics and the tune, and begins humming it to herself.  
  
“I thought I’d find you here.”  
  
She brings her singing to a stop immediately, startled by the sudden voice that invaded her thoughts. Ludmila turns to see Lucien standing beside her, a smile lifted on his lips. He looked even more heavenly with the sunlight illuminated on his face, she thought. She clears her throat, still somewhat flustered from having been caught, and straightens herself properly in his presence.  
  
“I haven’t been watching long, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he tells her, and gets down on his feet to sit beside her. Lucien moves closer as he gives her a curious look: “The song that you sang just now—was it in Czech?”  
  
Ludmila shifts to create a small gap between them. She looks up at him, blinking, before nodding slowly in response. She did not trust herself to speak to him at the moment, fearing that her voice might break and humiliate herself in the process.  
  
Though she considered him a friend, Ludmila was still unsure of how she truly viewed him. He was kind, of course; in fact, the most kindest person she’s ever had the opportunity to meet, and is even more grateful to have been married to someone who was both understanding and patient. But she found her relationship with him perplexing. It was difficult for her to understand where the line between friend and lover met—she was congenial with him as always, as he was with her—but she could not deny the stammering of her heart beating loudly when she saw him either.  
  
“It’s a very beautiful song,” he continues. “And your voice is exquisite, Ludzia. You ought to sing more. It is as if the angels of the heavenly world touched my ears.”  
  
She eventually finds her voice, but it remains quiet: “You flatter me, Lucien.”  
  
He laughs, and she looks away. “Will you sing it again for me?”  
  
Reluctantly, she moves her head to settle her gaze on him once again. There is eagerness in his eyes, she notes, with the green of his eyes shining brighter at her and his lips quipped up into a handsome smile that she could no longer fight against. She takes a deep breath, and upon realising that she has quietly agreed to his request, he adjusts himself closer to her, almost leaning on her. The close proximity of his body to her surprises her, but says nothing to stop him. Admittedly, his warmth was... Comfortable. Welcoming, even.  
  
“ _Otep myrrhy mnět’ mój milý,_  
_milujet mě z své všie síly,_  
_a já jeho,_  
_zmilelého,_  
_proňžt’ netbám nic na jiného._ ”  
  
He watches as her lips move along with the words. Hearing her sing almost felt like a blessing, her tone both graceful and smooth with a touch of softness that pleased his ears. Lucien is convinced that the song had been made for her, for no other person could ever rival the beauty of her voice. It a shame, however, that he could not decipher the words of the song. It was in Czech—and though he had managed to learn a few words here and there from the soldiers and servants of the castle, he was not proficient enough to be considered fluent at the language. Many times, he had found himself wishing Ludmila would speak in Czech with him. He would hear her speaking to the people of the castle, and even to the townspeople of Prague, in her native tongue, with her melodic voice clinging in the air; though, as soon as she spoke with him, Ludmila would instantly revert back in German.  
  
“You sound divine, Ludzia,” he finally murmurs to her, and she notices the specks of rose and pink tainting on his cheeks. He had always known her to be beautiful, but watching her sing was otherworldly. The strings of his heart strummed at the view of her singing to him. She trusted him enough to show him this side of her. He decided, just then, that he would cherish this memory with him. “What does it mean? The song, that is.”  
  
“Do you wish to know?”  
  
That seemed to have caught his attention. He nods at her with much enthusiasm. “I do.”  
  
She leans towards him, and the blush in Lucien’s cheeks rises in a deep shade of red. She stops close enough to have their noses touching, and whispers just about when their lips almost meet: “Then learn Czech.”  
  
Ludmila gets up, but Lucien’s hand is fast to catch her wrist before she could run away. She turns to look at him, though not seeming vexed of his hold on her. Something in his chest warms upon hearing a chuckle escape from her mouth.  
  
“May I see you tonight then?”  
  
She tilts her head. “Whatever for?”  
  
“To learn Czech,” Lucien says simply. “And I would like to learn it from you.”  
  
She pauses for a moment as if she were contemplating on it. Then, she removes her hand from his, and a flash of disappointment almost fills him until he feels Ludmila’s hand resting on top of his. Her touch is warm and gentle, her smile—still mischievous—even more so alluring.  
  
“Then I shall see you tonight,” she says.  
  
She lets go of his hand and he watches her walk away from the garden, only stopping to take a look at him once again to throw him another smile before finally leaving. Lucien flusters; he brings his hand to cover his reddened cheeks, now unable to hold himself from blushing. He does not know much about love quite yet, with him being a teenager still. He has learned, both from artists and musicians, that love was a fickle thing—that, while it brought tragedy and despair, it also gave passion and tenderness like one has never known.  
  
He reminds himself that love was not especially kind to people like him and Ludmila. He’s aware of the fact that what he has with her is temporary; a political union like the one they have now will not last forever, and he understands that. But perhaps...  
  
Perhaps with Ludmila, he could be selfish. Perhaps, with Ludmila, he would learn how to love—he would endure it for her.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Luxembourg and Bohemia (now Czech Republic) forged a personal union with the marriage of John of Luxembourg and Elizabeth of Bohemia in 1310. The Přemyslid line was dying out, and the House of Luxembourg was elected to be a part of the Bohemian throne, thus starting the Luxembourg Dynasty in the Kingdom of Bohemia.
> 
> \- Luxembourg and Czech primarily communicated in German at the time, since it was the only language that they mutually understood in.
> 
> \- Ludzia is the German pet form of Ludmila (I don't know German though, so I could definitely be wrong on this one.)
> 
> \- Otep Myrrhy ("A Bundle of Myrrh") is a 14th century Bohemian love song written by an anonymous poet. The translation of the song is as follows: "As myrrh is my dear love to me, / he loveth me distractedly; / and I love him, / my heart's desire: / his spirit rules my heart entire."


End file.
